


Every Little Detail

by Ionah



Series: Insignificant Things [4]
Category: Grimm
Genre: Dark, Drugged Sex, M/M, Violence, Zaubertrank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ionah/pseuds/Ionah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick struggles to hang on to his will and discovers more of Renard's plan as everything happens much quicker than Nick could ever have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Little Detail

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've enjoyed writing it, anyway. :)

The call came after eight. Although Nick had not doubted it would come, the ring of the phone and Juliette's startled jerk still managed to surprise him.   
  
Juliette rose sleepily from her position in his arms on the couch and her warm breath feathered across his chin as she eased back. A gentle sigh accompanied her movement. She'd dozed off while they watched television. He might have stared at the screen for the last hour, but his mind had been on other things.  
  
He had spent all afternoon with Rosalee today, until finally she had told him it would take more than a day or two to make any progress in a search for an antidote or potion to counter the effects of what he'd been given. She had promised, with as grave and earnest an expression as Nick had ever seen on her face, she wouldn't give up until she'd scoured every resource available to her, and just before he'd left, she had agreed to keep his secret from Monroe, but only for now. Maybe that was the best he could ask for. Rosalee's loyalty had always been to Monroe first, then him.  
  
The phone was sitting on the side table where he'd left it earlier. He picked it up and used his thumb to accept the call. “This is Burkhardt.”  
  
“I'll expect you in half an hour. My place,” Captain Renard said.   
  
Nick had made the decision about how he was going to handle this hours ago. So he said, “I'll be there.”  
  
“I'll be waiting, Nick.” Renard ended the call on those words, and Nick dropped the phone to his lap.  
  
“Who was that?” Juliette asked, her voice still gentle with sleep.  
  
“The captain,” Nick said, then sighed and brought his hands up. He ran his fingers through his hair. “He needs me to come take a look at something on this case we've been working.”   
  
The lie came too easily.  
  
Juliette let him leave with a disappointed smile and a hug, and her kiss was as sweet as ever, the soft press of lips to his warm and loving. A little more than half an hour later, he found himself in front of Renard's door, knocking with a closed fist.  
  
The door opened, and Renard stood there, jacket off, tie gone, crisp blue shirt parted at the neck where the top three buttons had been released. Renard stepped back and waved Nick inside. “Just wait in the living room. I'll be there in a few minutes.”  
  
Nick followed him inside, staring at Renard's back as Renard walked away, wishing his own death weren't the consequence of killing Renard. His anger still burned bright at the betrayal, but he wasn't ready to die for revenge. Still, he had a burning desire to get his hands on Renard, to cause him hurt and pain and make him pay for thinking he had the right to claim anything that belonged to Nick.  
  
Nick looked away and walked through the hallway to the living room.  
  
The low light showcased the view over Portland's streets. Juliette would love it, he thought, standing there with his hands in his pockets and staring out at the night, the cars, and the buildings, waiting on Renard to return.  
  
“This is my city, Nick. Did you know that?”  
  
Nick turned. In each hand, Renard held a tumbler filled with a golden liquid.   
  
“Funny,” Nick said. “I never thought of Portland as belonging to anyone, least of all you.”  
  
“It belongs to you too. The news of your presence is still spreading, but already there aren't that many who would dare come in and try to take it from you. Fate has a way of putting us where we belong. You chose to make a home in Portland when you could have gone anywhere.”  
  
“So you're saying fate put me here so you could drug and rape me and steal away my will for some grand plan?”  
  
“What I've done is meant to strengthen both our positions. You might not see it yet, but this is going to help you just as much as it helps me.”  
  
Nick scoffed and shook his head. He shouldn't have come. His rational self was telling him this was a waste of time. But though Renard might sound crazy, if Nick had ever imagined the world he now knew existed, he would have thought he was crazy too.  
  
“How's that?”  
  
“You're the solution to a problem I've been dealing with for years, and you have something I want. Bring me the key.”  
  
Nick crossed his arms. “What key?”  
  
“Nick... You have the key. I'll want it soon.”  
  
“I don't know what you're talking about.” He stared hard at Renard, and because he still controlled his own actions and words despite the future that loomed before him, he felt a deep satisfaction at being able to say spitefully, “But if I did, there's no way I'd hand it over.”  
  
Renard contemplated Nick's unyielding gaze. “This world we're part of hasn't given up a fraction of its secrets to you yet, but each of us has a rightful place in it. This is yours, by my side protecting my interests. As I said before, there are rewards for obedience, loyalty, and devotion. You'll come to appreciate them.”  
  
Then he raised the tumbler in his right hand and took a long swallow. When he lowered the glass, it was half-empty.  
  
He extended the other glass to Nick.  
  
Nick stared at the drink, watching the pale liquid slosh up the insides of the glass. “No. I know what you did now, and there's no way I'm going to make this easy for you.”  
  
The corner of Renard's mouth turned up. “There's no drug here, Nick. There's no more need. It's just a drink.”  
  
“I said no.”  
  
“If you're concerned that I want sex from you tonight, don't be. I prefer patience to a struggle. Things will fall into place, so that the next time I fuck you, it'll be because you've asked me to.”  
  
Nick mashed his lips together tight against the urge to respond and clenched his jaw.   
  
Renard stepped closer, brushing against Nick as he placed the drinks on the table beside Nick. Nick held his ground.   
  
“Hold on to your anger for now,” Renard said, so close that Nick could feel the feather of his breath across his cheek as he spoke. “But in a few weeks, a month, there'll be nothing left of your will at all when it comes to me. Then you'll bring me the key.”  
  
Nick didn't waste his breath on an answer. He had waited long enough for his chance to show Renard just how much anger he'd been holding in since his first glimpse of that video.  
  
He punched Renard hard in the gut. Renard grunted, stumbled back a few steps, but reacted quickly, swinging his fist at Nick's face. Nick ducked and countered, connecting with Renard's jaw. He'd always been quick but lately it seemed as if his fighting skills had risen to another level entirely. Then his advantage disappeared after a hard jab to his chest and belly, and he curled in on the pain, trying to suck in a breath and block another punch at the same time.  
  
Renard was no lightweight but Nick recovered enough to get a grip on Renard's arm, yanking him off balance. Nick intended to follow with a punch but Renard grabbed him, and Nick's punch went wild.  
  
Nick slammed backwards, landing hard on his ass. He kicked out at Renard's leg, his foot connecting with shin. Renard jumped back and Nick shoved himself to his feet. He didn't block fast enough and Renard landed a quick jab, his fist snapping Nick's head around.   
  
Bright sharp pain flared through Nick's cheekbone and ear. He heard his own harsh gasp at the impact and thought for a moment he wasn't going to be able to keep his feet under him. He was furious, because he could feel himself pulling his punches, while Renard wasn't. He saw Renard moving in for another blow, and instead of taking his chances with another hit to the face, he rushed forward and slammed his shoulder into Renard's chest.   
  
He heard Renard's rapid exhale when they collided. His anger fueled him as he pushed, shoving Renard back until the back of Renard's longer legs plowed into a small table and they both fell on it, the resounding crash drowning out the rush of blood in his ears.   
  
Renard groaned, but he staggered to his feet first, while Nick rolled to his side, trying to breathe through the shooting pain in his arm. Glass crunched under Renard's shoes as he moved to reach down and grab Nick. Nick knew better than to let him get his hands on him, so he grabbed Renard's ankle and jerked.   
  
Renard's knee buckled. Nick rolled away just in time. Renard hit the floor knee first with a grimace of pain and a loud grunt.  
  
Nick rose to his feet, wobbling unsteadily for a moment while he tried to catch his breath. Blood trickled out of his nose. He swiped at it with the back of his hand, grazing his lip, and the stinging pain made him wince.   
  
A shadow moved in the corner of his eye and Nick looked up to see Renard getting to his feet again.  
  
Nick forgot the bloody nose and busted lip and lunged.   
  
They both crashed to the floor again, Renard twisting at the last moment, causing Nick to land flat on his back.  
  
The impact with the hard floor stole his breath. He groaned, his chest so tight he didn't think he'd ever get air inside his lungs. But then he did and he sat up.  
  
Renard was already getting ready to push himself to his feet, so Nick elbowed him in the chest as hard as he could, feeling the jar of impact into his shoulder. Renard fell back, and Nick rolled to his knees, shoving him down and straddling his thighs, and he punched Renard's face once, twice, three times, pissed as hell because he could feel how much he was holding back when all he wanted to do was beat Renard into the ground.   
  
Renard retaliated with a hard crunch of knuckle to bone as his fist connected with Nick's jaw.  
  
Nick's vision gray out for a second and in a grapple of hands and arms and legs, Renard shoved Nick off him and got Nick in a bear hug, his arms tight around Nick's chest but Nick still had his arms free.   
  
Despite the pain, despite the fact that he was probably losing this fight, the violence felt good after having kept so much of his anger inside for three days. He let out a yell and twisted hard against Renard's hold, but the clench of Renard's arms didn't weaken.  
  
Renard rolled them over, and Nick found himself crushed under Renard's body weight.  
  
“Son of a—” he sucked in a harsh breath, panting with the effort to push Renard off him.  
  
The tumbler caught his eye, lying there on the floor less than an arms length away, broken, its sharp edges glittering in the light, blood smeared beside it on the hardwood and pieces of shattered glass glinting all around.  
  
Nick moved his hand toward it, thinking for a moment that maybe he'd been wrong, maybe Renard had been wrong, but the closer his hand got to the broken glass the harder it was to keep reaching. And then he couldn't do it. He couldn't pick up the glass knowing that if he did, he fully intended to use it as a deadly weapon and inflict whatever damage he could with it.   
  
He slammed his hand down on the floor. The flat of his palm stung as hundreds of little slivers of glass poked at this skin and he could feel the reverberation all the way into his shoulder. He let out a vicious growl and pushed, heaved upward, flipping himself and Renard over.  
  
“Enough,” Renard said, his breathing labored and his arms tightening further around Nick.  
  
Nick kicked down hard with his heel, trying to connect with Renard's shin.  
  
“Enough,” and this time it was said with a force that rang through Nick's head like the crash of a cymbal.  
  
Nick stared up at the ceiling of Renard's condo and felt the fight drain out of him. His vision blurred and the lights in the ceiling flared bright and blinding. He wanted...  
  
He closed his eyes. All he saw behind them was an image of Sean Renard.  
  
Renard's arms fell away. Nick rolled off him and sat down heavily on his ass, one leg stretched out, sweeping bits of glass across the hardwood, his other leg bent uncomfortably tight at the knee as the sole of his shoe snagged against the floor. He took a deep breath and rested his forearm on his knee, letting his hand dangle in front of him.  
  
Renard sat up beside him. “Go home,” he said, turning his head toward Nick and looking at him sideways. “Take the week off. Contemplate your future. And when it's time, when you're ready, bring me the key.”   
  
“Yeah,” Nick said. “Like hell I will.”  
  
Renard laughed. It turned into a cough and he pressed his hand to his side. “If it makes you feel better, it's possible you cracked one of my ribs.”  
  
“I....” He had planned to say I hope so, but the words didn't come. He sat there and thought about fate and Renard and decided there was no way, no way he was going to let this stand.   
  
Whatever it took.  
  
Hours later, lying in bed beside Juliette at one-thirty in the morning, her soft arm resting across his aching chest, his eyes open and sleepless, staring up at the ceiling, Nick knew what he had to do. Renard couldn't have the key, and there was really only one way to make sure Nick didn't betray himself and give it to Renard at some point in the future.  
  
The next morning, after he lied to Juliette again about a fight at the station where he'd supposedly been last night, and after he'd put off Hank for at least a day by claiming he was sicker than he'd realized yesterday, Nick drove over to Monroe's house.  
  
He parked on the street, and then got out and climbed the steps up to the front door and knocked a little harder than usual before tucking his hands into his pants to fight off the chill.  
  
Monroe opened the door, already talking. “Hey, dude, you're way early. Couldn't you have—Oh, man, what happened to your face?”  
  
Nick reached up and touched his swollen cheek, and then winced because touching it had been a stupid thing to do. His face hurt and he knew it, and there was no reason for him to prove it to himself again just so Monroe could realize how bad it really was.  
  
“Is that—Hey, you okay? You've got a black eye and your lip's busted.”  
  
“No kidding,” Nick said. “Can I come in?”  
  
Monroe swung the door wide and moved quickly out of the way. “Sorry, yeah, come in, of course. What happened? Grimm stuff?”  
  
“Yeah,” Nick said. “Something like that.”  
  
“Want to—”  
  
“Can't really talk about it.”  
  
“Oh, okay, whatever you say.” Monroe tried to act like it didn't matter, but Nick saw the sting his brush off caused in the nervous gestures Monroe made with his hands and the shift of his eyes from Nick's face to somewhere below his collar.  
  
Monroe walked toward the kitchen and Nick followed, the routine ordinary and reassuring, and Nick felt his misgivings fade. Renard's betrayal had shook Nick's confidence in his judgment but this was Monroe. Monroe wouldn't let him down.   
  
“You want coffee? I've got coffee.”  
  
“I'm not staying long. I just... I need a favor, Monroe.”  
  
Monroe turned around and rested his hip against the edge of the small island in the middle of the room. “Oh, okay.”  
  
“A big one.”  
  
Monroe's brow furrowed as he looked at Nick, but he barely hesitated when he said, “Sure. Whatever.”  
  
“Here,” Nick said, offering Monroe the small wooden box he'd brought with him. The key was sealed inside.  
  
Monroe's fingers brushed against Nick's as he accepted the box which just fit in one hand comfortably. Nick watched Monroe stroke his thumb over one edge of the smooth wood surface.   
  
Nick pointed at Monroe's hand. “I want you to hide that someplace I'll never find it, and I mean never, and then I don't want you to tell me where it is, I don't care what I say to you.”  
  
“That's...” Monroe frowned and glanced up at Nick. “That's weird dude. Is everything okay?”   
  
Nick suspected he was coming across as melodramatic, but he needed Monroe to understand how important this was. “I'm counting on you, Monroe.”  
  
“How will I know when it's okay to let you have it back?”  
  
Nick shook his head. “You can't. Not unless Rosalee tells you it's okay. Only then.”  
  
“Rosalee?” Monroe's frown deepened. “What's Rosalee have to do with this?”  
  
“You're just going to have to trust me on this, Monroe. Don't let me have it back unless Rosalee tells you it's okay. Okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I got it.” Monroe glanced down again at the box. “What's in it? Or do I want to know?”  
  
“It's better if you don't,” Nick said. “I trust you with it. Protect it for me, no matter what happens.”  
  
“Okay Nick, you're officially freaking me out now. What's going on?”  
  
“Seriously, just trust me, okay?”  
  
“You know I do.” As if any question of Monroe's trust was insulting. “You, ah... There's nothing going on with you and Rosalee, is there? She was asking a lot of questions about you last night when I stopped in at the shop, to, ah, say hi.” He fiddled with the box. “I was in the area.”  
  
“Monroe.” Nick waited for Monroe to meet his gaze. “I love Juliette. I would never do something like that to her. Rosalee's just doing some research for me. And hey, you're the one who said you weren't my Grimmopedia.”  
  
“Well, yeah,” Monroe said, but it was so clear in the way he said the words that he didn't mean it at all.  
  
Nick let it go.   
  
The big question Nick didn't have an answer for was whether or not he would tell Renard that Monroe knew where the key was hidden. He didn't like putting Monroe in danger like this, but his only other choice was to destroy the key, and that seemed like a really bad idea. He could only hope he was doing the right thing. But Monroe deserved a warning.  
  
Nick reached out and squeezed Monroe's shoulder. “Listen. I don't like asking this. It's way too dangerous for you, but I don't have any other options. You could be putting your life on the line and if that's asking too much, it's okay, just tell me.”  
  
“Uh, okay.” Monroe pushed himself off the island to stand at his full height in front of Nick. “I think I can handle it.”  
  
“Okay,” Nick said. He leaned back and gave Monroe a relieved smile and knew he was lucky to have found someone he could trust with this part of his life. Renard could say what he wanted but if fate was anything, it was a blutbad checking his mailbox on a cold sunny day all those months ago.   
  
He left shortly after that, and four long days passed without a word from Captain Renard.  
  
At the end of the fourth day, while he and Juliette stood in the kitchen and Juliette had her arms around his waist leaning up for a kiss, his phone rang from his back pocket. Before he could stop her, she reached in with her nimble fingers and pulled the phone out, glancing around his arm at the screen.  
  
“It's Hank,” she said, pressing her soft warm lips to his again. She started to pull back but he tightened his arms around her waist and walked her backward a few steps. He pushed her up against the counter, reached down, grabbed and lifted, and she laughed as she wound her legs around his waist. “Nick—”  
  
“I'll call him back later,” he said.  
  
“Sorry.” She grinned up at him, the skin around her eyes crinkled, and he realized this was the first time since she'd come back from her trip that he'd looked at her and actually thought maybe he could take her to bed and slide into the sweet heat of her body and forget everything that was happening, everything that had happened, for just a little while.  
  
She put the phone up to his ear and shrugged apologetically, laughing again. “We can't hang up on him now.”  
  
He reached up and took the phone from her hand, clearing his throat as a heaviness settled in his stomach.  
  
“Yeah, Hank, sorry. What's going on?”  
  
“You've put me off long enough,” Hank said through the phone at Nick's ear. “What the hell happened, Nick? We're partners. If something's going on, you need to fill me in. You and the captain met up somewhere and had it out, didn't you? He hid it pretty good but his face was busted up and you've been avoiding me for days.”  
  
“It's nothing.” Nick let his other hand slide off Juliette's hip. He gestured to the phone and mouthed “living room” to Juliette. She raised her eyebrows but nodded and slid off the counter.  
  
“It's not nothing, Nick. Something's been wrong with you since you didn't come in on the weekend. You never do that when we're working a case.”  
  
“Listen,” Nick said, walking into the living room where he could talk without having Juliette overhear everything. He'd told her the department had wanted him to use up some of the time off he'd accumulated, and really, that was as much the truth as anything, but he knew Hank wouldn't believe that. “I went over to his condo and we argued and it got out of hand, okay? Instead of suspending me, he ordered me to take the week off. That's all. We worked it out. Everything's fine and I'll be back next week.”  
  
“What the hell was it about? I've never known you to fly off the handle like that before.”  
  
“It was stupid, Hank, and I really don't want to talk about it. I just want to put the whole thing behind me.” Which was certainly the truth.  
  
“Damn it, Nick.” Hank sounded exasperated. “You do something like this again, you're damn well going to tell me everything, you got it?”  
  
“I got it. Thanks, Hank.”  
  
“You're one lucky son of a bitch. Can't believe the captain didn't suspend you.” He hung up on those words.  
  
Nick was just about to tuck the phone into his pocket again when he heard the audible alert telling him he'd received a text message. He looked down at the screen as he walked into the kitchen where Juliette had gone back to chopping vegetables for their dinner.   
  
A text from Rosalee. Found something. Could take a few weeks to follow up. Sorry.  
  
Weeks. The word sent a shiver of dread through him. Who knew what damage a few weeks could do?  
  
Of course, after that, when they were relaxing on the couch and Juliette tried to rekindle the romance of the evening, her hands drifting over his chest and sliding under his shirt, her mouth warm on his neck and jaw, Nick couldn't stop thinking about what a few weeks might bring, and when her palm cupped his cock through his jeans, he leaned his forehead against hers and tried to breathe past the crushing weight on his chest. He put his hand over hers and eased her fingers away, and said, “I'm sorry. It's not you.”   
  
She didn't understand and he couldn't tell her the truth so he just kissed her again and again, hands framing her face, fingers threaded in her silky hair, and then said, “It was the call from Hank. I'm  sorry, but I can't stop thinking about that case and how I should be there helping bring in that killer.”   
  
The lamplight created shadows in the room, but he could see the doubt in Juliette's eyes. She slid off his thighs and sat back against the cushions of the couch sideways, resting her head on her arm.   
  
Nick leaned toward her. “I love you,” he said.  
  
“Just when I think we're getting back to normal, something happens, Nick, and then we're right back here.”  
  
“Juliette...”   
  
But she rose to her feet and with a last lingering look at his face, turned and headed upstairs.   
  
He didn't follow.  
  
The next few days were a tense mess. A burning desire to be back at work had just about driven Nick to return to the department early without Renard's permission. Then the week long exile was over and he was at his desk waiting on Hank to arrive with coffee.   
  
He had just started to type a search into the computer when Renard walked up beside him.  
  
Nick kept typing.  
  
Renard put his hand on Nick's shoulder. “Let's talk.”  
  
Warmth flared under his skin, spreading up his neck and into his cheeks. The unexpected reaction caused his fingers to stutter on the keys. Without waiting for Nick to acknowledge him, Renard walked off toward his office. Nick swore under his breath, swiveled in his chair and rolled backward in one quick move. He followed and the scary part was that he still felt like he was doing it out of his own free will when he knew that might not be the reality. How could he know?  
  
Nick entered the office behind Renard and closed the door. Renard sat down behind his desk.   
  
Nick hesitated but then sat, uncomfortably aware of the warmth still flowing through his body. He leaned back and crossed his arms.  
  
The injuries Nick had inflicted on Renard were just shadows beneath the skin and a few faint lines above his eyebrow and across his cheek. Nick looked at those lingering traces and expected to feel some kind of satisfaction at what he'd done, but he didn't.  
  
“Tell me about Monroe.”  
  
Every muscle in Nick's body tensed and he sat up a little straighter. “What about him?”  
  
“You spend a lot of time together. Talking, meeting. Tell me why.”  
  
“He's a friend.” More sat on the tip of his tongue. He tried to hold it in but failed. “A blutbad. He helps me out sometimes with the Grimm work. I like him. I trust him. I—”  
  
Finally—finally—he managed to shut his mouth, but it was a close thing.  
  
He sat there, feeling the unsteady rise and fall of his chest under his crossed arms, fighting the urge to open his mouth and say things he shouldn't. He had a moment of clarity where he realized he was never going to be able to keep from telling Renard that he'd given the key to Monroe. He might not even make it to the end of the day if Renard asked the right questions.  
  
He should have been angry, he thought, but the anger was too hard to grasp and hold.   
  
Maybe this was how he had felt when he was under the influence of the drug. He couldn't know for sure, of course, because he'd only seen his reaction play out on a computer screen and he had no memories of the event to draw on. He could only guess at his own feelings based on what he'd said and how he'd said it, like the threat to kill Renard that had sounded like nothing more than a casual comment, without heat or intent. Nothing to show the anger that should have accompanied those words. Nothing at all but “I'll kill you for this” spoken low and breathy just before Renard fucked him with those long fingers, the same fingers threaded together and resting gently on the top of the desk right now.  
  
All he could think was that this wasn't right, this wasn't him, this wasn't how he was supposed to feel. He knew that, without a doubt, even as he took a deep breath and felt his stomach turn over because he hadn't told Renard everything.  
  
Renard leaned forward. His chair creaked. “How're you feeling, Nick?”  
  
“None of—” Nick stopped, watching those fingers. He uncrossed his arms, glanced away, and then used one hand to rub at the tension building in the back of his neck. Defiance seemed like such a waste of time. “I'm tired. I'm not sleeping well. I close my eyes and all I see is—”   
  
No. He wasn't saying that. He looked up at Renard, his eyes wide, heart pounding too fast and too loud.  
  
Renard's expression didn't change much. It was no wonder Nick had never guessed all the things going on in his head. Grave sincerity masked every thought and hid every deceit and betrayal, and Nick couldn't look away from Renard's gray-green eyes, wasn't sure he even wanted to.   
  
“You're almost there, Nick. You and I both know that. And when you are, when the time comes, you're going to show up at my door because you won't be able to stay away. Even now I can tell how close you're getting.”  
  
“You're wrong.” As if denying it could make it true.  
  
“You'll ask for it, Nick, on your knees if that's what it takes to convince me to give you what you want. Because what you'll want is my cock in your ass, fucking you hard enough and long enough for you to lose yourself in nothing but the feel of me owning you. Because you know you belong to me now.”  
  
They were just words, but they slid over Nick like a hand, touching, tweaking, making him shift in his seat. Images flashed into his head, of him, of Renard, of flesh and a bed and words and pleas, and Nick clenched his fingers into a fist on his thigh. His mouth watered and he had to swallow hard to get past the tightening of his throat.   
  
“Shut up,” he said.  
  
But God, Renard was right. He wanted to ask Renard to touch him. He craved some kind of connection with him, even if he wasn't sure exactly what that was. His life was falling apart around him, and he prayed Rosalee found something, anything, to save him from this.   
  
“I need something from you,” Renard said then.  
  
Nick's eyes moved to Renard's mouth, watching the words form.  
  
“Someone has stepped up to take Leo Taymor's place without the proper tribute. She needs to be reminded of her position.”  
  
Nick tried to focus and found himself staring at the pulse point above the collar of Renard's gray shirt. “What?”  
  
Renard pushed a slip of paper across the desk with the tips of his fingers. Nick glanced down and saw a handwritten address.   
  
“Make her understand that her compliance isn't optional. Coming from you, I think she'll have reason to take the warning to heart. There's no need to kill her. She serves a purpose and I might have a use for her yet.”  
  
Nick realized he still hadn't grasped how deep Renard's deception ran. “You knew about the Löwen Games?” A question he didn't expect an answer for, because he already knew the answer as soon as he asked.   
  
“There were rules. Taymor broke them. I won't let that happen again.”  
  
Nick wanted to tell Renard to go to hell but the words remained unspoken.   
  
“Don't waste your time fighting the urge to do as I say, Nick. You don't want her people kidnapping innocents and using them in these games anymore than I do.”   
  
“I don't want anyone running the games at all. Monroe was almost killed.”  
  
“Ah. Monroe again.” Renard gave him a considering look, then threaded his fingers, his thumbs rubbing as he contemplated Nick. The silence dragged out before Renard spoke. “Have you been fucking him, Nick?”  
  
Nick directed a scathing look at Renard. “I've never been interested in fucking men and I don't sleep around on Juliette. At least not by choice,” he said with a hard edge to his words. “Monroe's just a good friend.”  
  
“Be sure it stays that way.”  
  
Nick said nothing, just reached forward and snatched the paper from the edge of Renard's desk. He rose to his feet and didn't wait to be dismissed before he left.  
  
Just under an hour later, when he pulled up outside the small home with the overgrown grass and then walked up the front steps, he noted the abandoned feel of the place and wondered if it was going to be harder to track down this woman than he'd been led to believe.  
  
He knocked but no one came to the door. When he tried the doorknob it was locked, so he started around back and came to a low window that he used to get a look inside. He saw a sparsely furnished room containing two upholstered chairs, a bookcase, no visible TV, and a barely-dressed female body lying on a sofa, one arm hanging loose over the side, her head turned into the cushions.  
  
Nick studied the layout of the room's interior and the short run of kitchen cabinets he could see through the exit at the far side of the room, and then continued on around to the back. There he found another door, and this time, the knob turned in his hand. He eased the door open with one hand while he drew his gun out of its holster with the other.  
  
The door creaked once but otherwise swung open quietly. One, two, three short steps inside and he stood in a small hallway off the kitchen. He walked carefully through the room until he was on the other side, where he peered around the opening that led into the rest of the house, looking toward the living room and the sofa.  
  
The body was gone.  
  
He turned his head just as a roar sounded from the left and then something hit him with enough force to knock him on his ass. He skidded across the tiled floor until his back smacked up against the cabinet under the sink and his watch cracked against a hinge. The löwen jumped on him, the impact shoving him sideways, trapping him against the floor and jarring his arm hard enough that he dropped his gun.  
  
The face staring down at him was that of a morphed löwen, female and angry, her teeth shiny and sharp. She seemed to want nothing so much as she wanted a taste of his blood, preferably as she ripped out his throat.    
  
He grabbed her shoulders and held her off with gritted teeth and sheer determination even as her hands clenched on his upper arms and her elongated nails dug into his jacket.  
  
“I'm not here to kill you,” he said, the muscles in his arms taut with the effort it took to keep her shoulders back so she couldn't get close enough to end him right then. She was stronger than her size warranted, but a lot of the Wesen were like that, Nick had discovered. “I'm here to collect a tribute.”  
  
She roared at him, but then her face reverted to human form even though her eyes still glowed golden in the light. “So his Highness sends a minion to collect?”  
  
Her change back to human form weakened her grip on him, and Nick pushed hard, twisting, turning, and with grunt of effort, flipped her over. She gasped as her back hit the hard cold surface of the floor and Nick covered her, holding her down with his body weight. She let her bare thighs fall open, and his groin settled tight against hers.  
  
“Do you also want a tribute?” she asked, tilting her hips and arching her back, her t-shirt thin enough to see through, her panties nothing but lace and ribbon.  
  
Nick shifted but it didn't help so he just accepted that to keep her from killing him, he was going to have to deal. “No. I really don't.”  
  
“Too bad,” she said. “That's a tribute I don't mind giving.” Her smiled flattened. “As for Sean Renard, he can go to hell. Cousin Leo—”  
  
“Tribute isn't optional,” Nick interrupted, remembering what Renard had told him. He stared down at her and her face morphed again, this time out of her control and her eyes widened, the gold fading to brown as her human appearance returned.  
  
“Grimm.” Spoken like an profanity.  
  
Nick gave her a tight smile. “I was sent to give you a warning. Send the tribute, follow the rules, or I come back for you.”  
  
He wanted to tell her to stop the Löwen Games entirely but that wasn't what Renard had wanted, and he had spent the drive over to this place convincing himself that letting it be for the moment could work to his advantage when he found a way to bring Renard down. His justification of his actions still sat heavy in his gut, as if he knew it was nothing but a lie to make his desire to follow Renard's instructions acceptable.  
  
But now he had completed his task for Renard and the burn of satisfaction was a physical thing that started at the base of his spine, spreading outward in a pulse of heat and pleasure. He sucked in his breath at the sensation, caught off guard by the blood flowing into his cock, making him hard.  
  
Beneath him, the woman's eyes widened before flashing gold.  
  
Nick jerked upright, releasing her arms and sitting back on his knees, but she curled her legs around his hips, her ass coming off the floor, and held him tight against her. He gripped her thighs for balance, his fingers squeezing soft warm flesh.  
  
One of her hands curled over the waistband of his jeans, the other tugged at the button. “Feels like the Grimm wants his own tribute after all.”  
  
He gripped her hands roughly, pulling them away from his fly. “Not interested.”  
  
“Liar.” She raised her head and showed her teeth, gave a soft groan as she pushed herself against him one last time, then relaxed her hands and legs, releasing him with a sigh. “Spoilsport.”  
  
Her gaze followed him as he got to his feet. “Tell his Highness I'll send tribute tomorrow. I'll even play by the rules of his little canton.” She smiled, all teeth, and then her expression flattened into one of distinct displeasure and she pushed herself up on her elbows. “For now.”   
  
“I'll let him know how enthusiastic you were.” Nick left her on the floor and walked out through the front, but he could feel her glare until he pulled the door closed behind him.  
  
After he climbed into the Cruiser, he turned his wrist to check the time only to realize his watch had broken in the struggle, the crystal shattered. He let out a harsh breath and rubbed at the red mark where the impact of the watch and cabinet had bruised his skin. Then he put his key in the ignition and started the engine.  
  
He drove to Monroe's house, each turn, each stop, each mile barely registering. He thought about the löwen's words, how she'd twice called Renard “his highness.” He thought about his fading erection. He thought about leaving town, putting distance between himself and Renard, but he couldn't see the sense in it, and that felt wrong somehow, but the idea caused a jumble in his head when he tried to think of where he'd go and why he should bother. His hesitation to even try wasn't rational, but he just couldn't bring himself to turn at the right places and find his way out of Portland.  
  
He thought about knocking on Renard's door and asking him why again, even though he knew the answer and knew it would just be an excuse to ask and that it might lead him to ask for something else.  
  
“Damn it.” He smacked his palm hard against the steering wheel but then had to swiftly correct for the turn onto the street where Monroe lived.  
  
When he reached Monroe's house, he parked in his usual spot on the street and got out, taking his frustration out on the door of the Cruiser by slamming it harder than necessary.  
  
Monroe let him in, his eyes scouring Nick as he stepped back so Nick could walk through the small entry and into the open space of the living room. Nick watched Monroe tilt his head, his nose in the air, sniffing. It had been a week since he'd visited, since he'd given Monroe the key and asked him to protect it.   
  
Nick noticed Monroe's eyes dart around the room, refusing to meet his gaze, and he had a feeling he knew what that meant. He pushed back the tails of his coat and rested his hands on his hips. “Rosalee's already told you. Did she even wait the week?”  
  
Monroe blinked at him a few times, opened his mouth and moved his lips but no words came out. Then his hands came up and he leaned in with that tilt to his head, so earnest and true. “Okay, okay. She told me yesterday. She had to, Nick. She's on to something, but she needed my help. Don't be mad at her.”  
  
“I'm not mad, I just wish she hadn't told you.”  
  
Monroe rubbed his hand on his chest. “Well, yeah. I get that. I really do.”  
  
“No, you don't. It's not because I don't trust you, you know I do. I just didn't want to drag you into this.”  
  
Monroe nodded, but then sniffed again and leaned in toward him. Nick didn't think Monroe was even aware he was doing it.   
  
“Monroe,” he said.  
  
Monroe straightened abruptly. “Sorry. I keep getting a whiff of—”  
  
“A löwen tried to have me for lunch.”  
  
“Dude. No wonder you reek. But there's something else, something—Oh.” Monroe scratched the side of his head and looked away.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Uh, nothing.”  
  
“Monroe...”  
  
“She must have been, well, you know—” He used his hands to draw a picture of curves in the air. “Something.”  
  
Abruptly Nick realized exactly what Monroe meant. “Never mind. I don't want to know.”   
  
“Tried to tell you.”  
  
A change of topic was definitely in order. “So what did Rosalee need your help with?”  
  
“Uh, just some—stuff. It's a little hard to come by, that's all, and, well, she has to have it if she has a hope in hell of doing anything about your...problem.” He opened his hands and gestured at Nick. “We have to get you free of this thing before something really bad happens.”  
  
Nick choked out a laugh. “Something really bad's already happening.”  
  
“Well, yeah, but it could be so much worse.”  
  
Nick jerked his hand up in the air. “Really? How? It doesn't much feel like it could be worse, Monroe. I've already been taking it up the—”   
  
Monroe's eyebrows rose dramatically.   
  
“Forget it.” Nick yanked off his watch. “I need you to fix this. It was a gift and I don't want to have to explain something else to Juliette right now.”  
  
Monroe took it, nodding. “Yeah, sure, anything. Whatever I can do.”  
  
Nick took a deep breath. “I know. If—” He cleared his throat. “If I come after that box I gave you, you do whatever you have to do to stop me. I mean it. Don't let me have it, Monroe.” He put his hand on Monroe's shoulder and looked straight into his eyes, trying to convey how serious he was. “I don't care what you have to do. Do you understand?”  
  
Monroe pulled back a few inches, his brown eyes going wide and confused. “You mean—”  
  
“Anything, Monroe. I mean it. If it's not me then it might be you and how the hell am I supposed to live with that if it happens?”  
  
“Uh, okay.” Monroe let his breath out in a whistle of air. “It's taken care of. You're not getting it back over my dead body—although I really hope that doesn't happen. Not quite ready to die yet. Besides,” he added quickly, “we're going to fix this.”  
  
Nick patted Monroe's shoulder before releasing him. “Thanks.”  
  
They stood there like that for a moment, and then Monroe said, “So, what's it feel like?”  
  
Nick felt his breath catch in his chest. Monroe freaked out.  
  
“Oh, oh god man,” Monroe said, his voice full of animated distress. “I mean the losing your will part, not the other thing, I'm so sorry, I would never in a million years ask about, uh—” He jerked his arm around and pointed toward the kitchen and the refrigerator. “Want a brew?”  
  
Nick backed toward the door. “No, I think I'll go now, thanks.”  
  
“Yeah. Uh. Yeah.” Monroe said, standing there with eyes full of sorrow.  
  
Nick couldn't leave him like that so just before he turned at the door, he said, “I know what you meant, it's okay. Really. Just, there's stuff I need to do.”  
  
The evening and next day passed almost normally, and then the next. Rosalee responded to his messages in a way that made it clear she didn't want to get his hopes up but that she might really be on to something.   
  
Monroe went out of town, a short voice mail Nick's only warning.   
  
At night, dreams flashed through him, waking him and Juliette twice, sometimes three times before sunrise. He couldn't explain because the nightmares were filled with nothing but desperation and surrender and Renard's face.  
  
At work, Renard watched him, every day, never standing too close, never saying anything in front of anyone that could be construed as unusual. Nick could feel Renard's patience eating a hole in his resistance. Renard knew he was going to win; he had no reason not to be patient. Nick hated him for that, when he wasn't fighting the flush of pleasure he felt every time Renard was near.  
  
Before Nick could comprehend how fast time was getting away from him, a week and a half had gone by.  
  
He lost it on a Tuesday and he didn't even care when he got a voice mail from Rosalee while he was parked in front of Sean Renard's condo. He had been staring at the building entrance for an hour, ignoring Juliette's calls and three texts from Rosalee telling him to call her back. He pushed the door of the Cruiser open just as his phone rang again. He didn't even bother taking it out of his coat pocket.   
  
Cold air met his breath, creating a visible puff of air every time he breathed out while he walked to the building entrance.  
  
All he could think about was how Renard had looked at him earlier that day as they'd brought in the suspect in their murder case. He and Hank had finally gotten the evidence they needed, and Renard's approval had been a rush of heat and arousal so strong Nick had fought for control for hours afterward.  
  
His phone rang again as he climbed the stairs, and he shut it off this time. No interruptions. Not even from Monroe. Renard wouldn't want them, and Nick certainly didn't.  
  
At the door, he knocked with his fist, the curl of his fingers the only thing stopping the tremble in his hand.   
  
The door opened.  
  
“Ah Nick. I thought tonight might be the night.”  
  
“I want it,” Nick said, not waiting for an invitation to enter. He stepped inside while pushing the door closed behind himself. The burn had almost overwhelmed him, the desire to beg almost more than he could handle. He tried not to sound desperate even though that was exactly how he felt. “Another case, another job. Whatever you want to give me. Fuck me if that's what you want. I want all of it.”  
  
“Prove it,” Renard said softly. “Show me you're ready. Show me you know your place.”  
  
Nick searched Renard's expression, thinking hard about everything Renard had said to him over the past few weeks. There was only one thing he could remember that might satisfy Renard's demand for proof, so Nick slid down on his knees, his jeans stretching tight across his thighs, the floor hard underneath him, and looked up the long length of Renard's powerful body. “I'm yours.”  
  
“When we're alone, especially when I'm fucking you, call me Sean.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Go to my bedroom.” He pointed the direction, but when Nick started to get to his feet, he said, “No. Wait.”  
  
He rubbed his hand over Nick's cheek, scraping across the day's worth of beard, his thumb catching the center of Nick's bottom lip. “I don't imagine you've ever sucked anyone's dick, have you?”   
  
Nick swallowed hard. “No. Never.”  
  
“Never's a long time to forgo the pleasure of bringing a man to his knees with the power of your mouth. I have no doubt you could do that, Nick, with a little practice. Would you like to practice?”  
  
Nick felt heat raging through him. He would do it. He would do anything to feel Renard over him, anything to satisfy the urges overtaking him.  
  
“Yes,” Nick said. “Let me.”  
  
Renard put his hands on Nick's shoulders. “Ask for it. Ask for what you want.”  
  
Nick started working Renard's belt open with jerky, anxious movements. “Let me suck your dick.”  
  
Holding firmly to Nick, Renard held himself steady against the push and pull of Nick's hands. “More.”  
  
Nick felt a surge of panic at the thought that Renard might tell him no. “Please...Sean. You have to let me do this.”  
  
Finally, he opened Renard's trousers, spreading the fabric, lowering the elastic of Renard's underwear until he'd exposed Renard's thick cock.  
  
He'd had that cock inside him, and at that moment, Nick resented the lack of memories that meant he didn't know what it would feel like when Renard fucked him. He wanted to remember everything.  
  
He wanted to know what it felt like when Renard pushed him down into the bed and pushed his cock inside, stretching him until he was wide open and full, until there was nothing left but the pressure, the pain, and the pleasure. He wanted Renard to ride him hard. So hard that it would chase away the desperation and desire for at least a little while.  
  
His breathing sped up and his mouth watered and he looked at Renard's cock, then he closed his eyes and breathed deep for just a moment, smelling the earthy scent of male flesh, wanting to taste so badly he couldn't think straight for the urge, before reopening them and sliding his palm against that hot and hard flesh, feeling his own cock tighten painfully against the fabric of his jeans until he felt bound so tight he hurt.   
  
He shifted on his knees, before easing his mouth down on Renard's cock, and thought this was it. This was what he needed to feel normal again.  
  
His vision narrowed; his focus scattered; he lost himself in that moment and then the next until there was nothing left but the need for satisfaction.  
  
His jaw ached by the time Renard directed him to the bedroom and spread him out, before Renard pushed his cock into Nick's ass and fucked him, tweaking Nick's nipples until he wanted to scream with the unrelenting fire that boiled in his blood, before Renard used his hand to jerk Nick's flesh until he was gasping and panting, arms trembling, and taking every thrust with a clench of fingers against the sheets, and rocking his ass back against hips that were merciless in their forward grind.  
  
A long time later, Nick opened bleary eyes, his disorientation absolute for three full seconds before he realized where he was. On his back. In Renard's bed. A hand rested in the center of his chest, fingers brushing through his hair, thumb flicking lightly over his right nipple, already tight and hard and sore.  
  
“It's time for you to give me the key,” Renard said, leaning close, his breath ghosting over Nick's cheek. “Do you have it with you?”  
  
Nick blinked, tried to clear his head, but the haze of want and need hadn't lifted completely, and he opened his mouth to answer only to have Renard's lips press down over his own, the scrape of beard an unexpected reminder that this was the first time he had ever kissed a man like this. He opened to the wet glide of mouth and tongue but he didn't drift away on his feelings like he had earlier, until finally Renard leaned back.  
  
“Did you bring me the key? Where is it?”  
  
“I don't have it,” he said.  
  
Maybe he wasn't yet completely lost to the enchantment Renard had snared him in after all. Now that his earlier desire had been satisfied and the edge of desperation gone, a willful denial came to his lips. “I don't know where the key is,” he said, and he meant it. But then he felt compelled to add, “I gave it to Monroe and he hid it from me. I told him to kill me if I came after it.”  
  
Renard pursed his lips, his displeasure visible in the creases around his eyes and mouth. “That was a foolish thing to do, Nick. Now you're going to have to go get it and you'll probably have to kill him. I wouldn't have asked you to do that.”  
  
“I won't kill Monroe,” he said.  
  
“Yet,” Renard said. “But you will do whatever's necessary to get me that key.”  
  
Renard pulled hard at Nick's nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Nick gasped and grabbed Renard's wrist tightly.  
  
Renard slid his other hand down to palm Nick's cock. Nick reached to stop him, but Renard's fingers curled around the shaft of his penis and stroked, and Nick's hand fell away as his breath hitched.  
  
“You don't seem to appreciate just how strong my hold is already,” Renard said.  
  
With Renard's hand moving on him in a steady up and down glide, Nick had to try hard to stay focused on their conversation. “I understand just fine. I wouldn't be here otherwise.”  
  
Renard stopped his movements. “Fuck my hand, Nick.” The command was softly spoken, a whisper of words, but dangerously powerful all the same.  
  
Nick felt his hips jerk up off the bed, an unsteady thrust into the hand fisted around his flesh. Heat flared in his face and neck. A groan slipped out.  
  
His reprieve was over. His feet dug into the mattress for better leverage so he could thrust harder and faster, but the movement was awkward and he growled out in frustration. “I'll find a way to get the key,” he said, struggling against the need for more. “I won't kill him but I'll get the key.”  
  
Renard released him.  
  
“No! Don't...” he said, his hand returning to Renard's wrist.  
  
“Shh.” Renard pressed his forefinger to Nick's lips. “Obedience is rewarded.”  
  
Nick swallowed past a tight throat as Renard leaned forward, his warm mouth traveling down Nick's chest, over his ribs and hipbones and down to the crease of this thigh. The feel of hot breath in his pubic hair sent his heart racing and then Renard's mouth closed over Nick's cock and then it was nothing but wet heat and slick mouth and hands sliding between his legs.   
  
Fingers pressed inside to fuck his ass while Renard's mouth worked his cock, taking him, owning him.   
  
Renard pulled away just as Nick came, the milky white streaks of semen spattering over his belly. A quick swipe with a tissue from the night stand and then Renard climbed between Nick's thighs, pushed his shoulders under Nick's knees, opened him wide, and traced the crack of Nick's ass, one finger sliding over his hole. “Ask for it. Ask me to fuck this tight little hole again.”  
  
It was too much; he was too far gone. That finger pressed in, sudden and deep, and Nick groaned low in his throat.  
  
“Fuck me. Please...” His surrender brought a flutter to his stomach. “I want you to fuck me. So hard, just—just...Sean, please...do it...”  
  
He knew he would remember every detail, down to the most insignificant, about Renard's possession and his own surrender tonight. No more pretending he had any will left at all where Renard was concerned. He was finished, done, and if Rosalee didn't save him, he would spend the rest of his days begging Sean Renard to fuck him.  
  
Renard pushed his cock inside, stretching Nick's hole wide, wide, wider, until he thought there was no way Renard's cock should fit inside him. He couldn't remember how many times Renard had fucked his ass already tonight, but the position was different face-to-face, and Nick breathed harder, the tightness and the heat still a surprise, his bottom so full he didn't know if he should take it or try to pull away as pain mingled with pleasure and flesh stretched and burned.  
  
He felt the shivers race over him, a cold sweat break free, before Renard leaned close, his arms and chest straining and started to fuck into him with deep, heavy thrusts, riding him hard, the bed creaking with every pounding smack of Renard's hips against his ass.  
  
Nick gave in to the need to touch and ran his hands along the sweat slicked skin of Renard's arms and stretched his head back and gasped with every thrust.  
  
“Your surrender is breathtaking,” Renard said, and Nick heard the satisfaction and the certainty, “and you are mine.”  
  
Near midnight, Nick sat in his Cruiser, exhausted, sore, every thought a memory of pleasure and pain, his head so clear it hurt. He read through the flood of text messages and missed calls on his phone and felt sick.   
  
We can stop it. Come to the shop asap.  
  
He called Monroe.  
  
“I got your message,” he said. “I'm on my way.”  
  
“It's been hours, Nick. Is everything okay?”  
  
“I'm fine,” he said. “I'll be there in ten.”  
  
“We're waiting. And—” Monroe sounded uncertain, hesitant. “It's not perfect, Nick, but it's all we've got. I hope...”  
  
Nick rubbed his face, shifted in the seat to get his seat belt pulled down one-handed, and winced at the sharp pain the movement caused. Rough anal sex without the drug was a much different experience if his one memory of the day after was anything to go by. “Anything's got to be better than living the rest of my life like this.”  
  
“Kinda hope you mean that.”  
  
“You have no idea,” Nick said. “I'll be there.” He ended the call, shoved the phone into his coat pocket, and then started the Cruiser and pulled away from the curb, heading for the spice shop.  
  
What was done couldn't be undone. He knew that.  
  
The drive passed in a haze of thoughts, and when he pulled up in front of the dark spice shop, he spent a moment with his head in his hands before he got out and went to the door. It opened as soon as he approached, Monroe holding it wide as Nick walked inside the darkened shop, light glowing from the back room.  
  
“Come on back to Rosalee's work room. She's got the stuff in there.” Monroe looked at him sharply as he passed by, and he caught the widening eyes and rapid once over as Monroe seemed to realize something was off with Nick, his nose up, his subtle sniff, and then the sudden tensing of his body as if he had just realized what it all added up to.  
  
“Nick—”  
  
“Don't,” he said and kept walking past the counter and into the lighted space in the back where Rosalee waited.  
  
“Nick.” Rosalee stood near her largest table, beakers and vials and powders and unidentified things scattered everywhere, as if she'd been working like mad to get this completed and ready.  
  
“Rosalee,” he said, stopping across from her, resting his hands on the edge of the table's surface. He turned to watch Monroe enter the room and take up a position slightly behind him and to his left. “Tell me what you have.”  
  
Her eyes told him before any words that this wasn't the cure he had wanted, no magical quick fix to end Renard's plans. “It's not an antidote or remedy, Nick. I'm really sorry, but there just isn't anything that can fix what that Zaubertrank has done. I have found a way to counteract the effects though and it'll work, but I'm not sure you're going to like it.”  
  
“Will it break his hold on me?”  
  
“Almost immediately, but the death tie will still be there. And you'll have to be careful, because he can reverse this just as quickly as we can and be right back in control of your will. You'll probably spend the rest of your life on guard against him but you'll never able to kill him unless you're prepared to die with him.”  
  
“What if someone else kills him?”  
  
She shook her head. “That won't matter. You'll still die.”  
  
“So I'll have to spend the rest of my days making sure he lives as long as possible.”  
  
“I'm afraid so.” Her eyes flickered between him and Monroe.   
  
Nick stared at her and wondered what she hadn't yet told him. “That's not the worst of it?”  
  
Monroe turned his head and grimaced. “No. It kind of gets worse.”  
  
Nick closed his eyes for just a moment and took a few shallow breaths before speaking again. “You might as well tell me everything. I don't know that I have a lot of choices here.”  
  
Rosalee sighed softly before explaining. “It's the same potion, Nick. You let someone else use it on you, but of course it has to be someone you trust, because the effects are the same. Your will is tied to theirs.”  
  
Monroe eased closer to the table, more to Nick's side now than behind him. “Sorry Nick. Same deal, different person. But at least you get to choose.”  
  
For a moment, Nick felt the world crashing down on his shoulders. This wasn't a remedy; they were right. Thoughts rushed through his head, racing in circles as he tried to piece together how this would be different, how this would help, if he could do it, if he even wanted to any longer.  
  
No one spoke. Rosalee and Monroe let him process the information silently for almost a minute before Monroe put his hand on Nick's shoulder.  
  
Nick shrugged it off. “How am I supposed to allow this to happen deliberately? I can't let Juliette tie her life to mine, knowing I could die at any time, probably will die too damn early. This isn't an option, there is no choice here. This is—this is—” When he couldn't think of any way to describe the hell this meant for anyone foolish enough to try this, he slammed his fist onto the table top.   
  
Rosalee jumped. Monroe crossed his arms and used his hand to scrub at his chin, looking down at his feet.  
  
“I can't use it.” Nick pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand.   
  
Rosalee leaned forward over the table. “But would you, if you knew the person who did it had volunteered?”  
  
“I—” His throat closed up tight and he couldn't answer.  
  
“Nick, it's the only way,” Rosalee said, her brow furrowed and her soft eyes open and earnest. “I wish there was something else we could do, but we have to stop this. This isn't even about just you. You're a Grimm, and you're too dangerous to all of us to be at the mercy of someone who can control you.”  
  
Monroe still stood next to him. Nick breathed deep and slipped his hand under the edge of his jacket. The cold metal of his service weapon grazed his fingers as he eased his hand into position.  
  
“I know,” he said. Then he pulled his weapon and pointed it at Rosalee.  
  
Rosalee gasped audibly. Monroe's eyes went red. Nick put out his other hand palm up toward Monroe in the universal signal for stop. “If you move, I'll shoot her, Monroe. I don't want to do that. I need you to get me the box I gave you.”  
  
Monroe was half morphed to blutbad. He shook his head and went fully human again, except for a tinge of red in his eyes.  
  
“Nick, you don't want to do this.”  
  
“No, I really don't, but I need that key and I need you to get it for me.”  
  
He watched Rosalee and Monroe exchange glances. They were clever and he knew that, so he watched for any tells that might give him an advance warning of whatever it was they might try. They would try something. He knew it as sure as he knew Monroe had volunteered to take the drug, as sure as he knew Rosalee had allowed it. They'd come up with this plan together, and Nick appreciated that, but he wouldn't let either of them sacrifice so much for him, just as he couldn't ask Juliette to do the same.   
  
Monroe would keep his promise. He wouldn't let Nick just take the box he'd been entrusted to hide.  
  
Nick didn't let his aim waver. “You should really go find the box, Monroe. Rosalee's scared and she isn't going to want to stand here forever staring down the barrel of my gun.”  
  
“Nick, I don't know—” Monroe started.  
  
“It's okay,” Rosalee said, looking at Monroe and gesturing carefully with one hand. “When you gave it to me, I put it in the basement.”  
  
Ah. An extra layer of protection. Monroe hadn't known where the key was either.  
  
“Get it for him,” she continued.  
  
This was it, Nick knew. Monroe would have to cross behind him to make his way to the basement entrance. Such a simple plan. Monroe would probably try to overpower—  
  
His distraction caught him unprepared for the fine powder that billowed into his face. Nick sneezed once, twice, three times in quick succession and his finger slipped, pulling the trigger in an involuntary reaction. Glass shattered, and a growling blutbad hit him dead center in the chest. He hit the floor just as his vision tunneled to a narrow pinprick of light.  
  
Voices sounded like white-noise. Arms closed around him like a vice. Whatever Rosalee had thrown at him, the effect had been near instant and the disorientation lingered. His eyes and nose burned, his head swam. A hand clenched his wrist. His fingers opened and the gun came free even as he bucked against the weight across his midsection.  
  
“Monroe...won't last...longer...”  
  
“Hand me...we'll...the chair...”  
  
Nick wrestled against the grasping hands but it was too hard to fight when every breath was like fire in his lungs. He started coughing and he couldn't stop, his body bending double as he was dragged to his feet. For a moment, he thought he was going to throw up.  
  
“Nick, Nick...help you...swear it.”  
  
Then the nauseating cough eased and he started to make sense of words again, but by the time he realized his arms were being tied around the back of a straight-backed chair it was too late to stop it. He jerked his shoulders forward. The chair screeched across the floor an inch, but Rosalee crouched in front of him but not too close. “Nick, Nick. It's okay. We're not going to hurt you. We're going to give you the potion now.”  
  
“No.” He was suffocating from the hot burn behind his eyes. “Don't. I don't want it.”  
  
“You said anything. This is all we have.”  
  
“Not this.” He looked over at Monroe standing just behind Rosalee. “Not this, Monroe. I can't do this. I don't care if you volunteered, you don't know what you're agreeing to. You'll never be free, don't you get it?” He turned back to Rosalee. “You care about him, I know you do. You can't let him do this. When I die, he'll die, and—and the other stuff. I know you don't want that.”  
  
Rosalee shook her head and stood. “It's okay, Nick. Monroe can give you back your will, or as much of it as possible. You can't stay like this. You know that.”   
  
He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. He thought about Renard and tonight and how he was going to disappoint him and why it even mattered and anger welled up fresh and hot. He kicked out at nothing and yanked hard at the rope binding him to the chair. “I wouldn't have killed either of you,” he said. “I haven't lost that much of myself. Monroe was supposed to kill me if I tried to take the key back.”  
  
“Oh dude.” Said with shocked comprehension, the look on Monroe's face just as telling as the tone of his voice.  
  
“Nick...” Rosalee said.  
  
“We'll have to have sex,” Nick said, his voice gone cold and hard. He glared at Monroe. Maybe blunt language would make him understand. “You'll have to fuck me at least a few times. Do you really think you're going to want to spend the rest of your life tied to me like that, Monroe? Because you will, that's what it does. Maybe you won't have to keep fucking me, but I'll want you to every time I'm around you, because that's what it makes me want and I can't stop it. If I could have, I never would have asked—” He cut himself off and gave an angry, harsh laugh. “No, let's be completely honest here—I fucking went down on my knees and begged—for it just so I could stop feeling like I was going crazy because I wanted it so bad. You want me on my knees begging you for something you're not interested in for the rest of our lives?”  
  
Monroe swallowed visibly and looked between Nick and Rosalee before stopping to stare at Nick, his expression sincere. “I can handle this Nick. I swear. I know why you don't want to involve Juliette, same as why I wouldn't let Rosalee even suggest she do it. It has to be someone you trust but who knows you're a Grimm. There's no way this will work out well for you if it isn't. And that means....” He opened his hands and shrugged. “Me. And that's okay. Rosalee says the stuff I take will make me able to, uh...”  
  
Nick almost snarled at Monroe when Monroe couldn't even say the words. “Fuck me?”  
  
Monroe blew out a heavy sigh, clearly exasperated. “Look, there is no other way man. This is it. Be this guy's tool for the rest of your life, die, or let me save you. And you can forget thinking I'm going to kill you in cold blood, because it won't happen. And in a fight? Frankly, I don't even know if I could after seeing what you did to those reapers. You've become one bad-ass Grimm and you know it. It's why you're so dangerous—and so useful to whoever it was did this to you.”  
  
“No.” Nick jerked again at the ropes and this time his chair rocked to the side. He sucked in his breath when the hard flat seat jarred against his bottom, but the sudden flash of pain brought with it a moment of clarity. “God, Monroe, this is—I'm messed up. Please—” Then he felt the shift and roll of his stomach and regretted the words instantly. “No. No. You can't do this. I can't.”  
  
“We shouldn't wait any longer,” Rosalee said. “Even if he wants our help, I don't think he can accept it. I think the hold over him is already too strong.”   
  
“Yeah,” Monroe said. But Nick saw the doubt in Monroe eyes and heard the hesitation in the careful way he voiced his agreement.  
  
“Don't do this, please,” Nick said. He leaned as far forward as he could against the ropes binding him to the chair. “You'll regret it.” He looked up at Monroe through his lashes and spoke harshly. “How can you do this to me? It's the same thing he did. It'll be exactly the same.”  
  
Monroe looked back at him, and Nick could see his expression of broken sorrow. He came closer, while Rosalee moved to the table and picked up a clear glass, full of water maybe, and dripped an eyedropper full of something into the liquid.  
  
Standing under the glare of the light almost directly overhead, shadows chased across Monroe's face. Nick could see the determination in the press of Monroe's lips and the crinkle of skin around his eyes. Monroe had settled on the necessity of what they were doing and no matter how conflicted he felt, he wasn't going to back down.  
  
Nick jerked back in his chair and near growled out his frustration. He yanked and twisted until the chair tipped, teetering on its left side. Monroe lunged forward just in time to grab it. The legs hit the floor with a loud clop.   
  
Nick didn't stop struggling.   
  
Not when Monroe held his mouth open and his nose closed and made him swallow even past his choking cough, not two minutes later when dizzy disorientation made him jerk upright because he thought he was going to slide sideways, not a minute after that as he watched Monroe swallow down a glass of water he had watched Rosalee lace with a concoction from a different eyedropper.  
  
And then he did stop struggling.   
  
His arms went weak and his heartbeat slowed before taking up a steady, slightly faster beat. Not too hard, not like it had been when he was panicking at the thought of what was coming. For a moment he thought he was going to pass out, but then a sudden precise focus slipped in past the haze overtaking him, and for one single moment, he remembered how much he hated Sean Renard and why he would never hate Monroe or Rosalee.  
  
He woke to a bright streak of light slashing across his eyes. He grimaced and turned his head away.  
  
“Nick. How do you feel?”  
  
His eyes tracked to the sound of Rosalee's voice across the room. She was getting to her feet from a chair nearby.  
  
He realized he was lying on a bed, and when he looked around, he recognized the room from the one time he'd been inside it, during the search of Monroe's house on the day they'd met.  
  
“Why—” He stopped when his memories of the night before started to slot into place.   
  
Going to the shop. Arguing with Monroe and Rosalee. Being tied to a chair...nothing after that.   
  
He could guess the rest.  
  
He eased to a sitting position. He had a faint headache. Nothing too bad, but enough to notice. As for the rest of him, he felt...normal. The aches and pains of last night, gone.  
  
“How long have you been waiting for me to wake up?”  
  
“Monroe called me an hour ago. He brought you here, for the—to finish the Zaubertrank. He thought you might prefer to wake up without him around but he didn't want you to be alone.”  
  
Nick brought his hands to his face, scrubbing at his forehead, and fought back the curious hurt brought about by the thought of Monroe's unease around him. “No, that's fine. It's okay. It had to be done. I understand. I—He shouldn't have sacrificed himself like that but I—I'm grateful. When you see him, you tell him that. Okay?”  
  
“I will.” Rosalee walked the short distance to the doorway, open already to the hall beyond. She stood there for a moment, and then seemed to decide she needed to say something else. “I'm so sorry about this, Nick. I hope you know that, but I searched every resource I had and this was the only way.”  
  
He rose to his feet. “Yeah. I think I'm going to go figure out what to tell Juliette about last night. I owe her some kind of explanation for not coming home.”   
  
“Yes. Monroe knows how much you love her.”  
  
“I do, but she deserves better, especially these days.”  
  
“Maybe, but you're a good man, and none of this is your fault. You should try to remember that when you start feeling guilty.”  
  
“Yeah.” He didn't elaborate. There was no point.  
  
Rosalee just gave him a sympathetic look and left. He heard her footsteps on the stair treads and then the front door opened and closed.  
  
Monroe had left him fully clothed, but Nick realized his shirt was twisted around his torso uncomfortably and his jeans weren't sitting on his hips quite right. He adjusted them, and then saw his wallet, keys, phone, gun and holster, and badge, along with a few other items from his pockets sitting on the night stand. He picked them up and put them in their places, then he headed out himself.  
  
In the Cruiser, when he checked his phone, he found plenty of messages from Juliette, one from Renard, and one from Monroe.  
  
I'm really worried. Where are you? Call me.  
  
My office, 9 am.  
  
J called me & I told her you had a beer or 6 with me & fell asleep. Really sorry. Got nervous & didn't know what to say. BTW I am SORRY dude but I couldn't leave you stuck like that forever. Call me when you can stand to talk to me.  
  
Nick sighed. He called Juliette.  
  
She answered right away. “Nick. What happened? I was so worried. I called everyone I could think of looking for you.”   
  
He heard barking dogs in the background so she had obviously gone on to work.  
  
“I'm so sorry,” he said. “For not calling, for drinking too much, for everything. I don't know what happened but obviously it got out of hand.”   
  
“You're not a heavy drinker, Nick. What's going on? Is it—” Her voice softened. “I just don't understand what's happening to us. Are you unhappy?”  
  
“No. God no, Juliette, you know that's not true. I love you.” He rested his elbow on the side of the door next to the window track and leaned into his phone. He used his right hand to press hard at his eyes and fought for calm. He loved this woman so much but his life was spiraling out of control. She was too good for him to keep treating her this way.  
  
“I'll make it up to you, I promise,” he said.  
  
“Nick, you don't have to make it up to me. I just want you to promise to tell me what's going on with you. You've been acting strangely for weeks now. I know something's wrong.”  
  
“We'll talk. I can't right now because I have to get to work, but we'll talk soon, okay?”  
  
He heard her sigh through the phone. “I need to get back to work, okay? I'll see you tonight.”  
  
“Love you,” he said again, and then he pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call. He stared at the screen for almost a minute before texting Renard a message.  
  
It's over. I know who you are now and I won't forget what you did. You might be safe for now, but that won't last forever. I'll find a way to destroy you. Count on it.  
  
Maybe it was foolish to put it all out there, but Nick thought not. He had no intention of leaving his job, and for the moment, it would be better to have Renard close so he could watch him, study him, and learn what he could.   
  
Renard wanted that key; Nick had it.   
  
And if Renard chose to make a move on Nick in the meantime, that could give Nick an opportunity to to put an end to Renard's power.  
  
His phone gave off a bell tone indicating he'd received another message.  
  
I don't take threats lightly. There are always consequences. Who fucked you, Nick? Juliette? Or did someone use that tight little hole I worked open last night? Your pet Wesen?  
  
Nick clenched the phone in his hand and refused to take the bait. His conversation with Renard was done. He would have to look at the man almost daily and know what had happened between them, and somehow, he would have to learn to hide every bit of the rage he carried around with him when Renard was near. Now was a good time to start.  
  
Nick tapped his thigh with the edge of his phone and contemplated the different ways his future could play out. Then he called Monroe.  
  
“Nick?” Monroe sounded ridiculously surprised to be hearing from him.  
  
Nick clenched his fist around the phone and did his best to act like nothing was wrong. “What are you up to this morning?”  
  
“Uh.... Getting a coffee from Starbucks?” Because Monroe's voice was so off its usual timbre, it sounded like a question.  
  
“You hate their coffee.”  
  
“Well,” Monroe said. An awkward pause followed. Then, “I thought I should get out of the house this morning.”  
  
“Had breakfast yet?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Let's meet up. We have a lot to talk about. I've been thinking, and...” Nick paused. “This doesn't have to ruin our lives if we don't let it.”  
  
“I tried to tell you that.”  
  
“I was messed up last night. I'm feeling a lot better today, more like myself.”  
  
“Thank God.” Then, after a short huff of breath through the phone, “This isn't some kind of trick is it? Where you get me off alone and go all Grimm on me?”  
  
Nick actually laughed, and it felt good. “No, Monroe. I'm not about to go Grimm on you. Just, thanks. I know what's coming, but at least you're my friend. Promise me you won't let that change.”  
  
“Absolutely not man. We'll deal, and maybe we'll get lucky and Rosalee will find a real antidote   or cure someday.”  
  
“We can hope.”  
  
“Hell yeah we can. But—” Monroe hesitated again, before rushing through his next words. “It doesn't matter. It really wasn't so bad, Nick. I didn't mind it. So, you know, we'll be fine no matter what happens.”  
  
Nick almost believed him.


End file.
